


Fight or Flight

by appalachian_fireflies



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU- Remus didn't go to Hogwarts, Angst, Hogwarts, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Professor Lupin - Freeform, Raising Harry Potter, Recovery, Slow Burn, Trauma Bonding, angsty teenage lycanthrope, empowerment, flying instructor Sirius, the Dogfather
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-30 07:24:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15747042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/appalachian_fireflies/pseuds/appalachian_fireflies
Summary: Headmistress McGonagall interviews a polite young werewolf for the Defense Against the Dark Arts position.  Sirius Black finds a nutter in patched robes sitting in the mud during his morning run.  Remus takes his tea sans plaster and accepts a promise of long-term employment.





	Fight or Flight

**Author's Note:**

> Relevant AU bits (will be discussed, but adding here in case it's helpful):  
> -Remus did not go to Hogwarts, and was homeschooled by his parents  
> -The first war lasted longer, and Remus and Sirius were both involved but did not meet  
> -Voldemort learns about the prophecy and confronts Harry later, at about 9 years old  
> -Sirius was not sent to Azkaban, and becomes Harry's godfather

It was getting to be late summer, and Headmistress McGonagall had not yet found a suitable candidate to fill the Defense Against the Dark Arts position. 

She supposed the rumors that the position was cursed did not much help her cause, but after that gasbag Lockhart- well. The less said about that, the better. 

Minerva reached for another biscuit. 

Quirrell, she supposed, was technically qualified, but had seemed rather disinterested in the children and a bit too keen on the dark arts. The man’s knowledge of necromancy was frankly alarming. She tried to imagine running into him in the staff room and sharing a pot of tea- had she already finished her biscuit? She vanished the crumbs from her desk, and sat back as she read this afternoon’s CV. The open window offered no cooling breeze, and the portraits of headmasters past drowsed in their frames.

In the very least this man seemed qualified; despite his youth, he’d managed a fair bit of travel and seemed to have the practical experience to go with it. Letters from past clients spoke of his efficiency in dealing with doxies, banshees, boggarts, and even, it appeared, a troll. This seemed a bit too good to be true; she would have to be diligent in following up. The final letter was a terse report of the man’s competency, signed by- Minerva put on her glasses. She was getting old, but there it was: Alastor Moody, Head Auror, Ministry of Magic. Well, that was quite interesting indeed. And yet, he’d spent no time in the Ministry’s employ. In fact, it seemed all of his jobs had been freelance, or-

There was a single, polite knock on the door. 

Minerva straightened up, vanishing crumbs from her robes. “Come in!” 

Her first impression of the young man was his smile- warm, friendly, if also a bit nervous. He had a battered briefcase and an only slightly less worn set of robes, patched with neat lines of stitches. When he met her eyes, the gaze was lively, though the lines under his eyes suggested that he was tired, perhaps from the travel. He sat gracefully in the chair opposite her desk at her invitation. As he turned, the light caught the glint of long silver scars that covered nearly his entire face. 

Well. After over a decade at war, nearly all of them had scars of some kind. 

“Mr. Lupin,” she peered back down at his CV. “You have an impressive amount of experience listed here- curse-breaking, warding, and of course your management of dark creatures. Can you tell me about your experience with teaching?” 

“I taught Latin at the Brexton Academy. Six classes of about 150 students total. I prepared my own syllabi, and taught four basic levels, plus a smaller course for advanced students.”

“That’s a muggle boarding school, correct?” 

The young man laced his hands together. His hair looked as if it had just been cut, cropped a little too close on the sides. “Yes.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

He looked surprised by the question. “Yes, I enjoyed it very much.” He paused. “I’ve gotten letters from former students, on occasion. Saying how the course helped them in their exams, and such. I find it very rewarding.” 

Nearly every subsequent answer was just as excellent; Lupin not only seemed to know his subject well, but even had some knowledge of ancient runes, arithmancy, and a decent grasp on transfiguration. Just where had he come from, she wondered? If his references checked out, it hardly mattered; she could easily imagine the students warming to him, and the other professors would be glad to finally have a colleague who they could discuss their pet projects with. 

“Mr. Lupin, one final question,” she peered at him over her spectacles. “It seems that all of your positions have been short-lived, and in the past several years have favored entirely freelance jobs over traditional employment. Can you explain why that is?”

Lupin regarded her for a moment, and in it he seemed to change. The overlarge robes aged him, his thinness made him seem as if he might disappear. “I have lycanthropy.” 

Minerva did not control her surprise in time, but she did not much fault herself for it. She thought of how she might reply to this revelation, but Lupin began speaking before she could fully consider it. 

“There’s a new potion,” Lupin said, “the Wolfsbane potion, that renders the transformation harmless. I would be of no danger to any of the students. For any classes that I miss, of course, I’ll be sure to prepare syllabi in advance-” 

Minerva held up a hand. “Yes, I’m aware of the potion. Thank you for your honesty. This does shed some light on the situation. I think I have all the information I need.”

“Of course.” He covered his disappointment well, and kept his posture. Waiting to be dismissed. 

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Lupin,” she said. “I’ll be in touch.” 

The man gave her a polite smile, and stood with the same poise with which he’d entered. “Thank you for the opportunity, headmistress.”

Minerva watched the door long after it had closed, lost in thought. 

“Such a polite young man, Remus,” one of the portraits above her spoke, and she turned to face it. “Never had the chance to thank him.”

“Had you met him, before, Albus?” Minerva asked, surprised. 

“Oh, yes.” Albus nodded, looking off into a still life of a shrivelfig. “The lad worked so hard to keep the werewolf packs from turning to Voldemort. Limited success, but then, it was a terribly difficult task.”

“Why,” Minerva caught herself. There were aspects of Albus’ life that she was still learning, despite their many years together. The closeness she’d thought they’d shared. “Is he trustworthy?”

“Certainly,” the headmaster nodded. “Alastor trusted him with his life.” 

“Well,” Minerva reflected on the sum of the picture laid out before her. “I might as well follow up on his references.” 

*

Remus had just managed the energy to put the kettle on, shuffle past the bills overflowing the countertop, and collapse at the kitchen table. The classifieds lay open; they crinkled when he rested his arms atop them, then his forehead. The cellar door opposite stood ajar, splintered stairs leading down into its dark mouth. 

The rain outside continued its steady torrent, and the floor felt cool under Remus’ feet. The walls groaned in protest as the winds battered them, but otherwise the cottage was silent. 

The teakettle whistled, and Remus shuffled over to retrieve it, breathing in the heady aroma of the English Breakfast. The ceramic mug decorated with bluebells was warm in his hands, and he lifted it shakily to his lips to drink. 

This, naturally, was when the roof caved in. 

Plaster and shingles fell in one violent slosh to cover the linoleum, and it was only Remus’ quick reflexes that saved his neck from several tons of plaster, which siphoned about him a moment later. The rain poured in through the gaping hole, and Remus observed it for a moment. 

Perhaps he shouldn’t have relied quite so much on patching charms. 

Remus held his wand aloft in an umbrella charm, shuffled back over to the kitchen table, and pulled a shard of tar from his tea. He gave it a long sip, though the fourth use of the tea bag had made it weak before he’d added the rainwater. 

A great tawny owl swooped through the hole in the ceiling, squawking in indignation when it found no relief from the rain. It huddled under one of the cabinets. In the dark of the early morning, its eyes were luminescent. 

“Hello,” Remus greeted, shuffling back over. He must find where he’d placed his cane. “Have you got another notice for me? You couldn’t come back tomorrow, could you? Or in a few months from now?”

The owl glared balefully at Remus, attempting to fluff its feathers in the enclosed space.

“Thought not,” Remus untied the letter from its leg. The parchment of the envelope was heavy, the rain-repelling charm high quality. He sighed when he spotted the coat of arms on the wax seal.

“I oughtn’t have left the cellar,” he said conversationally, breaking the seal with a snap. “Could’ve improved my day.”

_Dear Mr. Lupin,_

_The staff were extremely impressed with your application, and believe you would be well suited to serve as Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts. Given that the term starts in September and you will need some time to prepare for classes, please respond promptly. We hope that you will join us._

_Best,_  
_Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

Remus leaned against his countertop, absently sipping a bit of plaster as he re-read the letter, checking that it had been properly addressed. He finally looked up to peer at the owl, which had not yet left. 

“Would you mind waiting a mo? I’ve just got to write a reply. Here,” he rummaged around in the cupboard and broke off a piece of stale bread, which the owl grudgingly accepted. “I think I can spare it, now.”

*

Within 24 hours, Remus had packed his few possessions in a case and left the silence of his parents’ cottage behind. 

The train ride to Scotland had a lulling effect, the repetition of the rumbling roll and click of the wheels below, raindrops hitting the metal roof overhead. It was such a relief to leave the cottage’s decay, the derelict roof and its haunted rooms, that he fell asleep at once and did not wake for several hours. 

*

Sirius Black's first thought regarding the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was, "Oh Merlin, not another nutter."

He'd just completed his morning run around the Black lake when he saw the man crouched down in the reeds, mud seeping into his patched robes. He was staring at something Sirius couldn't see, but hoped would turn out to be more corporeal than Xenophilius’ nargles.

Sirius approached the man, but he gave no sign of having noticed. After a few moments of squelching foot to foot in the mud and trying to decide whether he should interrupt, Sirius considered buggering off to the castle. On the other hand, he'd never been very good at letting well enough alone.

"Hullo," he hovered, trainers sinking until the mud consumed his ankles.

"Hello," the man replied absently, still fixated on an apparently riveting cluster of reeds.

"Something interesting?" Sirius crouched down. 

"Hmm?" the man looked up, and did a double take before he quickly looked away. Sirius smirked and casually stretched his shoulders. The man looked younger up close than Sirius had thought on first impression. Thin in a tea-and-toast academic sort of way, though Sirius wondered what the scars crisscrossing his face might hint at.

"Grindylows," the man said.

"What?" Sirius reoriented himself from speculation about the man’s potential roguish past to focus on him, though he’d already looked away again. 

"I'm looking for one. Not one of the domesticated ones, of course," he gave the reeds a smile. "Wouldn't want to start a row with the merpeople."

"Domesticated- What?" Sirius sat on his heels just beside the man.

"Grindylows," the man repeated, amused. All at once, he went entirely still, muscles rigid with tension. "Look!" he whispered, urgent. He reached out to grasp Sirius' shoulder, grip surprisingly strong.

The reeds were now rustling, and Sirius could see a dart of green, the flash of wicked claws.

"Sorry," the man dropped his hand.

"I didn't mind," Sirius replied, mirroring the man’s all-consuming focus as they watched the summer breeze gently rustle the reeds, barely breathing. Sirius imagined what they must look like to anyone passing by, staring at nothing and soaked through with mud. 

There was a sudden flash of claws, and Sirius reached out to grasp the man’s shoulder in warning. Before he could speak, however, the man’s wand was already out. 

"Stupefy!" the man snapped out, body poised like a cat that had just spotted a particularly juicy mouse. They watched the reeds, waiting for any further movement.

"Did you- " adrenaline made Sirius' heart pound, and when the man levitated the grindylow’s unconscious body he whooped with triumph.

The man turned to grin at the reaction, looking pleased. "I'm sorry, I think I've been terribly rude. Remus Lupin," he started to extend a muddy hand, then withdrew it sheepishly. "Ah, I'll be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"Oh, we all know who you are," Sirius barked a laugh. "Small school and all. Though if I'd had any doubts, I'd say you've laid them to rest," he gestured to the stunned grindylow. "Haven't seen reflexes like that since my auror days. Sirius Black. Flying Instructor." He went to toss his hair away from his face, and remembered too late that he'd put it up for his run.

Remus gave him an amused smile. "Sirius, do you think you could remind me where my classroom is? I'm afraid the last time I tried to find it the staircases conspired to keep me away."

"There’s a trick to it," Sirius acknowledged. Thankfully, you've asked the right man. No one knows the castle better than I do."

"That so?"

Sirius nodded. "Made a map of it when I was a student. With my friend, James. Got up to all kinds of trouble with it." His voice echoed in the canyon as they crossed over the bridge back to the castle. "Don't suppose you got up to much trouble in school, did you?"

Remus regarded him, grindylow bobbing gently behind him as he walked. "What makes you say that?"

Sirius looked him over, assessing. "You don't quite look the type. Ravenclaw? I don't remember seeing you ‘round. Not sure we overlapped.”

Remus shook his head, "I was homeschooled."

Sirius' eyebrows shot up. "I would've been bloody miserable if I hadn’t been able to leave home."

"It wasn't so awful," Remus countered. "My parents traveled a lot. Got to see most of the world."

"What about other kids your own age?" Sirius asked at once, imagining it. "Weren't you lonely?"

Remus looked briefly taken aback by the question. "Sometimes, I suppose."

"Here we are,” Sirius paused in the courtyard. “Do you mind if I tell my godson where we're going? He should be just over by the broom shed.”

“Course,” Remus sat on one of the great stone windowsills, looking out towards the quidditch pitch. 

"Ah, there he is," Sirius pointed to a small figure approaching with a racing broom. "Harry!" he called, and the boy turned to run towards them, mop of black hair sticking up every which way in the wind.

"I didnt know there were children other than the students at Hogwarts," Remus remarked.

Sirius shook his head. "Just Harry. Though he'll be starting classes this year.” The boy slowed as he approached, taking in Remus’ presence with some curiosity. "Say hello to your Defense professor, Harry," Sirius prompted.

"Hello, Professor," Harry said politely, half hiding behind his broomstick and darting a look at Sirius.

"Hello, Harry," Remus gave the boy a friendly smile. He started to stand, pushing himself up, and froze when he spotted the scar on Harry’s forehead. He recovered quickly without gaping or looking terrified, which was more than could be said of most wizards who encountered the Boy Who Lived. Remus cleared his throat, regaining his footing. "I'll look forward to seeing you in class."

Harry gave him a taciturn nod, and looked back at Sirius.

"Wait here. I'll be back," Sirius gave Harry a push back towards the fields. "Just making sure Professor Lupin here doesn't get turned around."

Harry glanced back over his shoulder a couple times as he walked away, and Sirius snorted. "Doesn't think I know he flies when I'm not around. Bless 'im," Sirius looked fond. "Figured out the locking charm for the brooms when we first got here, couple years ago. Like father, like son."

"James Potter," Remus replied. "That's who you were talking about earlier, wasn't it? Sounds like you both were right menaces."

"You wouldn't know it, the way they talk about him now," Sirius sighed. "But I could tell you some stories. Good heart, James. He'd do anything for his friends. Here we are," Sirius stopped in front of the classroom, the steepled ceiling with its dragon skeleton, bookshelves below piled high and covered with magnifying glasses and specimen jars. He thought that Remus already looked as if he belonged here, the naturalist covered in mud and hauling a grindylow into one of the empty tanks.

"Thank you, Sirius," Remus gave him a nod. "I'm sure I'll see you around."

Sirius raised a hand in farewell. "Join us at dinner, if you like." 

*

When the headmistress came to him the day before the start of term to discuss a student, Remus had assumed he'd be cautioned about Harry Potter, the boy who'd defeated the Dark Lord.

"Her name is Bronwen Lewis. She’s a third year Ravenclaw, very driven," Minerva's hands laced together over her torso. "I had debated whether or not I should share what I'm about to tell you. You should know that generally, I don’t consider it my secret to tell."

"I can assure you, I take confidence quite seriously," Remus said, abandoning his tea to give her his undivided attention. "You can trust me on that."

Minerva nodded. “Historically, Miss Lewis has been an excellent student. Bright, well-liked by her peers. Last year, during the winter holidays, there was an incident. It appears Miss Lewis’ mother offended one of You-Know-Who’s former followers, a werewolf who goes by the name Greyback.” She paused, taking in Remus’ sudden pallor. “You recognize the name?”

"Yes," Remus replied, the grip on his desk white-knuckled. 

"After some time taken to recuperate from the bite, we arranged for her return. I saw no reason why she shouldn't continue her education, and Severus accepted the task of brewing regular doses of wolfsbane."

"I see," Remus replied, mind spinning. Could this be why Alastor had encouraged him so insistently to apply?

"She hasn't been the same, since. She's withdrawn. Doesn’t speak with her friends, spends most of her time alone, focused on her studies. Her roommates have expressed concern. There are some topics that might- affect her, in ways they do not affect the other students. You might consider excusing her when prudent."

Remus nodded. "Have you told her what I am?"

*

"You can put your wands and books away," Remus greeted the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. "Today's will be a practical lesson." He walked out of the classroom, and after a moment the students followed.

Remus wasn’t surprised by the appearance of the poltergeist, who he felt had been sussing him out, but he was surprised by the vehement glee with which he latched on to Browen Lewis. 

"BARMY BRONWEN," Peeves cackled with delight. The girl's face flushed with humiliation, and she ducked away from the onslaught, as if hoping not to be seen.

"I've found this is a useful little spell," Remus addressed the gathered students. "Waddiwasi!" Remus sent the wad of gum bursting from the lock to shoot up Peeves' nose.

Bronwen gave him an appraising took, brushing her hair away from her face. "Cool. Sir."

"Thank you, Miss Lewis. Can anyone tell me the theory behind the spell's contraction of the Swedish and French- "

*

"I have not," Minerva pursed her lips. "I consider that information need-to-know, for the both of you. I felt you needed to know." she paused. "I will warn you, though, that she is quite perceptive."

Remus took this advice for what it was. "I won't deny it, if she asks."

Minerva nodded briskly. "I wish you the best of luck with your classes." 

*

Remus wasn't prepared for the emergence of the boggart, though he cursed himself for a fool afterwards.

He'd debated removing her from the line altogether, but that had seemed too conspicuous. In any case, she'd been at the back of the line when he'd started coaching Mr. Clare through the earsplitting screeches of a siren, tuning out the annoyed shouts of the other students. When the siren suddenly lost her voice and Remus took stock of the room, the students had broken ranks to press against the classroom walls and had just begun to cautiously uncover their ears. Only Bronwen had not left her place; her feet were planted, wand outstretched, expression calculated and grim. 

He wasn’t quick enough to halt the smoke-like change of the boggart, the slavering werewolf taking shape to tower over Bronwen, larger than life. It was incredible, how quick memory could be to recall, even after all this time. The time and place came back in slow seconds- his classroom, Hogwarts, the students-

He stepped in front of Bronwen, and the moon turned into a wheel of cheese. The classroom went silent. 

Remus cleared his throat, breathing steadily to cover any tremor. "That's enough for today, I think. Sorry, sorry," he waved off some of the more diligent and disappointed students. 

Luckily, given their chatter as they left, the students thought little of the fact that a werewolf might be anyone’s greatest fear.

Bronwen gave him a long, thoughtful look as she left, and Remus found he could not meet her gaze

*

Sirius had taken up the habit of sitting to dinner with the new professor, particularly now that Harry had his own friends and was far too cool to be seen with his godfather.

Remus was easy company; cheerful, happy to listen to Sirius talk, and a good deal wittier than Sirius had first imagined.

"You're quite popular, you know," Sirius chewed on a chicken thigh. "Though you might've created a menace with that wadi-whatsit."

"Wasi," Remus replied. "Yes, that had crossed my mind."

Sirius barked a laugh. "Hidden depths! Sort of devious of you, isn’t it? I like it.” 

"Hm," Remus tucked his way through another piece of steak and kidney pie. So much for the imagined tea and toast diet. "Quick, start talking. I think Flitwick's working on cornering you for another interrogation on the uses of the Homunculus Charm."

Sirius ducked his head as if they were deep in conversation, and let out an airy sigh. "The price of being a genius."

"You ought to control that ego," Remus' lips twitched, "before you find a bit of corn up your nose."

"Lupin," Sirius leaned forward on his elbows, very close to Remus' face. "You don't want to start a prank war. You’ll lose."

Remus only raised an eyebrow, and Sirius could hear the response clearly, _That so?_ He looked away, and the moment broke. 

"I need some supplies for my sixth years. Remedies for exposure to dark magic and the like. Severus doesn't seem inclined to share.”

Sirius snorted. "Shocking. No worries, we have a budget for it, within reason. You'll probably find what you're looking for just over in Hogsmeade. They've got a potions shop." He leaned his chin or his palm. "One of the best chocolate shops in the country too, I reckon. Along with Rosmerta's pub."

"Yes, that'd be perfect," Remus nodded.

"It's a date, then?" Sirius brightened. "I’m free tomorrow afternoon. I'll show you around."

Remus opened his mouth, shut it, and seemed to think over his response. "I'm sure I can find my way. You needn't go to the trouble."

Sirius waved this away. "It's no trouble at all! We’ll just leave after lunch."

"Tomorrow it is, then." Remus agreed.


End file.
